


Regards, Oluwa Matumbo

by Grey_Bard



Category: Hustle (tv)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2005, recipient:Andraste
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-25
Updated: 2005-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grey_Bard/pseuds/Grey_Bard





	Regards, Oluwa Matumbo

"Dear friend, my letter may come to you as a surprise. Though I know that a transaction  
of this magnitude will make anyone apprehensive and worried, but I am assuring you that  
all will be well at the end of the day."

"Oh, god," Mickey Bricks says, and makes his newspaper more like a wall than usual.

Danny is, of course, unrepentant, smirking at his borrowed laptop and continuing to read.  
"We are top official of the federal government contract review panel who are interested  
in importation of goods into our country with funds which are presently trapped in  
Nigeria. In order to commence this business we solicit your assistance to enable us  
transfer into your account the said trapped funds."

He sighs behind the international edition of the Times. "Not this again..."

This works about as well as it usually does on Daniel - that is to say, not at all. "But we  
stand to make thirty five to sixty percent of eleven point five million dollars, after hotel  
bills and expenses! What do you say? I think the good Mrs. Oluwa Matumbo at least  
deserves the honor of our reply, the old dear."

Mickey puts down his paper and draws himself up to his full seated height. "Don't bait  
the Nigerians, Danny, they can't help that they're hopelessly incompetent."

I shake my head and go back to reading the society page. Do you see what I have to put  
up with?

The most important rule of the con, as our Mickey can - and will - tell you, is that you  
can't cheat an honest man. You can't do it. It simply won't work. A con works best when  
the other fellow thinks he's in on the game, or better still, when he thinks that he's  
conning you. No one can be as stupid as a man who is sure that he's being clever, and  
there's no one as easy to slip something by as someone with a very big secret of his own.

Which leads to the question, of course, of who do they think they're fooling?

If you haven't figured it out by now - and I doubt this is the case - allow me to explain. I  
am speaking of my own dear protege, Mickey Bricks, and *his* protege, Danny Blue.  
Regardless of my bluff man-about-town exterior, I assure you, I am not without some  
experience in matters of the heart.

Instead of taking full advantage of the wide range of varied and dubious pleasures Dubai  
can offer, two young and temporarily rich men are spending yet another afternoon  
drinking coffee and reading 419 scams. One needn't be an expert to see there is more  
here than meets the unwary eye.

Personally, I blame myself.

When Michael Stone alias Mickey Bricks, my student and partner in crime, was getting  
out of prison, I decided to give him a gift. Two years of hard time are hardly easy at the  
best of times and his marriage was obviously ending, a bad business. I admit, I was afraid  
it might have taken its toll upon him and lead him to some rash decisions. Going straight  
was never in Mickey's nature, not in any sense of the word, no matter how tempting the  
lovely and faithless Rachel Stone might be. As a good mentor, I naturally wanted only  
the best for him, which Rachel quite clearly was not. Therefore, I logically made some  
inquiries for a suitable replacement.

Nothing gladdens a grifter's heart so much as an able student - teaching lends spice to the  
con, gives you a renewed sense of the excitement of it all. Taking Mickey on was the best  
decision of my life, and I've never regretted it. Con artists such as ourselves tend to be  
something of an incestuous bunch, your crew is your family and your world, and no one  
else really understands. Mickey has always been like a son to me, but that's hardly the  
only kind of relationship that is possible. I admit, I was trying to get him back into the  
game, so killing two birds with one stone only made sense.

Danny Blue was every reason anyone would need not to go straight, in any sense of the  
word. The minute I saw him, playing short cons and loving every minute of it, I knew he  
was perfect. He was just admiring enough to make Mickey feel like a big fish, but enough  
of his own man to be interesting and actually good at the game. Huge trusting eyes and  
style to spare, in his own rough sort of way. His little authority issues actually served to  
make him a better fit - I'm sure you're not surprised that my protege has an equal and  
opposite set of personal foibles, sure to lend a certain frisson. True, Danny chased  
everything in a skirt, but he never bothered to keep what he caught, and on closer  
inspection there were other indications. Suffice to say that not all of his prior liaisons  
were entirely discreet.

Being a straightforward man myself, I arranged Danny's entrance into our little den of  
crime and thought matters would take care of themselves. I entirely failed to take into  
account the natural ability of high strung young men such as they to complicate even the  
simplest of human arrangements. The fact that both men in question were highly skilled  
professional liars only made things worse.

If you're looking for some more concrete examples, I need only look at the past few days.  
Having quit our criminal haunts in London and the charming confines of Eddie's Bar in, I  
admit, a less than leisurely manner, a certain amount of shopping was unavoidable upon  
reaching the sunny climes of Jumireh Beach. Hence exhibit A, the Bricks/Blue fashion  
parade.

Daniel waves an unremarkable blue and white striped swimming suit, still attached to the  
hanger, in Mickey's face. "What do you think of these swim trunks, eh?"

For his part, Mickey doesn't pause in his own inspection of the racks or need a second  
look, to make a flat assessment of the garment. "They're dreadful and they'll fall off your  
hips." This is said with such assurance that there can be very little doubt that when the  
suit is actually tried on, he will be proven right.

For the record, it *was* dreadful and *did* fall off his hips, but back to our lads.

Danny stares, momentarily thrown, as well he might be. Mickey, of course, appears bored  
and perfectly unperturbed.

He shakes his head and raises his eyebrows. "How many times have I outfitted you for a  
job? I must know your measurements better than your tailor."

I have to hand it to Michael, there isn't a better excuse possible for knowing another  
man's hips quite that well. Why, it might even have been true - except for the fact that, of  
course, it wasn't.

Of course, these little misdirections are hardly a one-way proposition. Take, for example,  
exhibit B - the other night when we had all retired to a bar. Mickey was allowing himself  
to be chatted up by a perfectly lovely and perfectly boring young vacationing broker.

He smiles that reserved little smile as he swirls his wine around his glass. "I never  
imagined commodities trading was so interesting," Mickey says to her with an absolutely  
straight face.

This is precisely when Danny comes steaming over to the bar, drink in hand, and  
practically throws himself between them. "Mickey, mate, there you are! And who is this  
absolutely gorgeous bird? Far too good for you, isn't she?" He grins at her and the poor  
girl is dazzled. "Here, what's your name, have I seen you somewhere?"

"Sheila," she manages to say, before he grabs her hand and starts shaking it vigorously.

Danny claps her on the shoulder, pressing his glass into her hand. "Listen, Sheila, it's  
been real. Sadly, Mick here and me, we've got some business to discuss, yeah? So you  
take this drink, I haven't touched it, and we'll see you around, okay?"

Mickey, like any good member of a grifting crew, knows when to play along. This  
doesn't stop him, as well it shouldn't from turning on Danny as soon as they're a safe  
distance away. "What, exactly, do you think you're you doing?"

He snaps to the defensive."Hey, what was that about being low profile? I thought we  
were on vacation 'til the heat wears off? The last thing we need is for you to get back in  
the game because some financial mastermind in a cocktail dress gives you an idea too  
good to resist."

Yes, of course Danny was worried about her *financial* incentives. Really, he was.  
Although, to be honest, it would have been far more likely than what he actual feared -  
Mickey had had that acquisitive look in his eye, you can't miss it.

And then, of course, there are the times when they're both fooling each other at the same  
time, in something of a tour de force of youthful stupidity. Exhibit c, yesterday afternoon  
when Mickey was out.

"I need to get something for Mickey, on account of my Nan," Danny says, out of  
nowhere, in the middle of a hand of poker. It's certainly a novel way of starting a  
conversation.

I, of course, have to ask. "Forgive me, but on account of your grandmother, how?"

He shrugs and stares at his cards. "He brought her tickets to Tom Jones the day before we  
left. You know, 'It's not unusual' and all that stuff. Right in the middle of the con and  
everything, said it was from me. This, in fact, happened to be a life-saver, because her  
birthday is this week, and you know how fast we left and all. Said he won 'em off  
someone and thought Nan might like them."

Not one of Danny's brighter moments. Tom Jones tickets don't grow on trees,  
particularly the week before someone's grandmother's birthday. If Mickey won them off  
of someone, it was a ticket scalper who he specifically targeted. But wait, it gets better.

Stacie beams at him. Smart girl."Oh, Danny, how sweet of him! Of course you have to  
get him something. A bottle of something good, perhaps?" She looks at Ash, who rightly  
takes this as a cue to lend his experience.

Ash shrugs. "I've always found a nice bit of Johnnie Walker green label does nicely,  
myself."

Danny scowls at his cards harder. "I dunno. I was thinking more, something. You know.  
Special. It's Mickey, isn't it?"

We all share a highly significant look. You can't hide things from your crew for very  
long, in this game.

Danny looks up, earnestly. "And my Nan. I mean, nothing's too good for that, right?"

Oh, brother.

The younger generation, honestly. I suppose there's nothing for it. If you want something  
done right, do it yourself.

There's something to be said for the power of suggestion. Hmm. Call me psychic, but  
when we get back to Britain, I feel a sudden need coming for a new variation on the  
wedding scam. Something more in line with the times, perhaps?

  



End file.
